


Invisible Connections

by KarmaLarma (orphan_account)



Series: Invisible Connections [1]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Chub, Gen, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 03:48:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1052165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/KarmaLarma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The actions of a person's double can effect them physically, ensuring that the two bodies are always alike. Kevin has been indulging his sweet tooth lately and Cecil shares the consequences of his poor dietary decisions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Invisible Connections

**Author's Note:**

> My first real fanfic and the first thing I've written for Night Vale. If I've written something off-key for the series or you have any critique, let me know so I can make my next addition better!

"-And I have to say, Desert Bluffs, the scout troupes have really outdone themselves this year with their cookie selections. I actually have a couple of boxes here in the studio with me now and they're absolutely delicious!" Kevin spoke brightly into the microphone, fingers pattering dangerously near said boxes as he was tempted to eat another cookie in addition to the ones he had managed to quickly put away during the prerecorded sponsored messages. It was unacceptable for him to keep eating them while he spoke into the microphone, knowing that it would be rude for him to give an unclear broadcast just so he could snack right when he wanted to, but that didn't make it any less of a temptation. The cookies themselves, while very tasty, seemed to have some sort of addictive qualities to them. Likely a marketing technique to get people to buy more of them, which wasn't anything Kevin would bat an eye at if he were to have his suspicions confirmed. It would be a smart move on the part of whoever was on the marketing team for those cookies. He simply finished up his broadcast and gave his farewell to the audience, passing off the metaphorical baton to the next show, before gathering up his cookies and getting ready to head home. "Vanessa, I'm going but I'm leaving you a box of the peanut butter cookies. They'll be here on the desk," he called to his station intern, leaving one already opened box there on the bloody desk. "See you tomorrow!"  
With that, he headed home, through the sunbaked streets of Desert Bluffs which were now overcast with the colors of the evening sunset.  
When he returned home, it was time to relax, slipping off his shoes, getting a tall glass of milk and relaxing on his sofa. He sighed and watched the sun setting through the window, his neighbors ushering their young raccoons and spiders back into the houses for the night. He loved his town. He gave a satisfied sound as he ate another one of his cookies dipped in milk. He loved those girl scouts too now. Soon he found the whole box of cookies was emptied as well as his large glass of milk.   
He still felt his sweet tooth aching for more of them, which he would be certain to order later, but he needed something to sate his appetite. In his kitchen, there wasn’t much variety in his choices but he luckily found an unused box of cake mix in the back of the cupboard. “Now how did you manage to hide back here?” he chuckled as he brought out the box, setting to work in unison with his high tech kitchen appliances. He whistled the tune from that day’s weather as he worked, grinning after he popped the unbaked cake into his Strex Corp oven and it made quick work of it. He lifted the cake out of the oven and onto the counter, not letting it cool long before he added the icing on top.  
“Perfect,” he chimed, cutting himself a slice of the cake. It was moist and chocolaty, the perfect thing to satisfy the sugar cravings the cookies had left him with. But the slice as gone all too quickly. “Mm, well, I have nobody to share this with anyway,” he reasoned, rubbing his admittedly full stomach even as he said this. So the rest of the cake and the rest of the gallon of milk accompanied him back to the frontroom. He put on a movie and by the end of it, he was stretched out on the couch, stomach distended with chocolaty sweet foods. He gave a soft groan when he tried to move, regretting his decision for a moment, then simply went limp again. “Just the cookies next time,” he said to himself, decidedly blaming the cake rather than his own overindulgence. Even his wording indicated he wouldn’t be doing anything about these odd cravings, confirming there would indeed be a “next time”.  
\-----------------------  
Both radio broadcasters for Desert Bluffs and for Night Vale were identical. From their hair to their noses to their mouths. Both were neither tall nor short, thin nor... Well, neither were thin. For Cecil, noticing his new weight was something he allowed his subconscious to do but would not consciously accept himself. Sure his pants were harder to get into. Sure he couldn't put his belt to the same hole he usually fastened it at. Sure his chair in the studio squeaked louder than before as he sat down and when he got up. It didn't mean anything. The only thing that could get him to acknowledge his newly grown and softening paunch finally had his attention today though.  
"Cecil, have you been... not exercising lately?" Carlos had asked him cautiously, obviously not wanting to imply anything to hurt Cecil's feelings.  
Cecil had tried to be nonchalant, but apparently Carlos caught something in the tone of his slightly defensive "No, I've been exercising."   
"I didn't mean anything by it," Carlos assured him, trying to fix any bad mood he had set with his question. "It's just that you're, um, looking uncomfortable in those pants." Cecil gave him a look, conflicted between whether it was a comment on his weight or innuendo on Carlos' part. "No, no, not like that. I meant that they're digging into your sides. They're really tight on you," Carlos pointed out, gesturing to Cecil's waistband then hesitantly trying to squeeze a finger between it and Cecil's flesh and finding himself unable to. It took some coercion, but Carlos managed to get him to unbutton his pants and slide them down a bit, frowning disapprovingly of the harsh red marks underneath left by the pants. Given how Cecil was avoiding the attention brought to his weight, Carlos decided on a different approach. "We should go buy you some new clothes."  
"Yes. We should," Cecil agreed with a sigh of relief, glad Carlos hadn't had the negative reaction to his weight he had feared. He decided he would get his weight under control after today to avoid further expenses on new clothes and his nerves. He was sure this new weight was just a delayed effect of his very sedentary job so it wouldn’t be anything he couldn’t handle quickly. It would just take a little effort and making time to actually exercise.  
\----------------------  
Kevin's weight gain hadn't gone unnoticed. At the same time he hadn't reacted quite like Cecil had. He had taken it in stride, simply buying clothes in new sizes that suited him. The round stomach he had gained spilled over his waistband, slightly accentuated by his well-tailored button up that was tucked into his pants. His backside and legs had even gained some new curves to them and he was fine with all of it. He was soft and shapely and to him it wasn't any sort of negative change. His coworkers seemed to take notice, but he remained productive so it was no problem for him, save for his chair becoming less comfortable. But his kindly intern had noticed this too, and today he had come in to work to prepare his reference papers for his broadcast only to find Vanessa finishing putting together a new desk chair for him.  
"Oh, Kevin, you're here earlier than I thought!" she said, wiping her hands on her pants as she got up from kneeling on the viscera soaked floor. "I hope you don't mind. I thought it was time for some new furniture in here," she told him with a broad smile, gesturing to the cushy office chair to get his opinion.  
"Thank you, Vanessa! It's exactly what I need," Kevin replied, cautiously taking a seat to test it then adjusting it to his liking. The old chair pinched his sides, not made to accommodate his growth, but this one was wider and he fit comfortably. "Yes, it's perfect! If they keep selling these cookies I'll need another soon," he joked lightheartedly, sharing a laugh with Vanessa about it. "Thanks again.” He noted, as she went to leave, that it appeared as though she had perhaps grown a bit softer as well, though not to the extent he had. He sidled into the chair and let it roll up to the desk, an easy feat with the slippery floor below it. It was a bit less roomy than he had thought once up where he could reach his papers and the microphone, but it was still no problem for him.  
\-------------------  
Cecil was dumbstruck upon finding himself on the floor of his studio, staring up at the ceiling. His ears were ringing, but he could see the newest intern whose name he couldn’t recall leaning over him, asking him something with concern in his eyes. He finally took Cecil’s wrist in his hand, then the other, pulling him up to a sitting position. As Cecil’s hearing came back he heard the intern call back down the hallway to the horrors of the manager’s office,” He’s still alive! He just fell and hit his head.”  
“How did that happen?” Cecil asked as he came to his senses, looking around the studio for what could have tipped him over before his face lit up scarlet at realizing just what had gone on.  
Underneath and around him he saw the remains of the always somewhat flimsy looking old chair he sat on while doing his work, the legs broken into splintery halves.  
“W-well…” The young man obviously didn’t want to explain to Cecil, seeing the look he had and suffering some sympathetic embarrassment on his part.  
“Nevermind,” Cecil stated, just giving a soft sigh as he let his head recover from the blow when he had hit the floor. Here he was sitting on the floor of the studio, round gut practically sitting in his lap, busted chair buried under his round rump. ‘At least,’ he thought to himself ‘this didn’t happen in front of Carlos’. His weight made him nervous of what Carlos would think of him but more so than that he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of his perfect, beloved Carlos. He gathered himself up off of the floor, retaining some of his dignity as he acted as though it were just another of the many freak accidents one could find happening in the studio, though usually to the interns and not the radio star.  
“I’ll go get you another chair,” the intern assured him, hurrying out and leaving Cecil to ponder over what could be done about the extra weight that he was carrying around. What if Carlos noticed again? What if the Secret Police thought his sudden gain was from smuggling and consuming wheat products? What if he’d been implanted with some sort of otherworldly terror’s spawn without his knowledge? Would he be in-law to the station management because of that? There were so many concerns to be had yet he didn’t even know where to begin to find solutions.


End file.
